


Back to Beacon Hills

by surrenderdammit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basically fluffy with a side-serving of porn, Bottom!Stiles, Derek Hale is actually happy and competent with feelings for once, Derek calls Stiles babe and I regret nothing, Derek's still a creeper, Dirty Talk, Dub-con regarding Stiles joining the pack, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, SERIOUS divergence from canon, Scent Marking, Scenting, Stiles Has Issues, Still a spark, Such a self-indulgent fic omg, Top!Derek, there's still werewolves, werefox!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderdammit/pseuds/surrenderdammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a born werefox, returning to Beacon Hills with the hopes of starting over and finding some sort of home again. Maybe he can finally stay in one place long enough for his scent to catch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> For Minor Character Death, see end notes, though it's rather obvious :,D
> 
> Anyway, this fic has been on my computer for, like, months. Holy shit. I got tired of it lying around so excuse the questionable quality.
> 
> Also, it's been a while since I wrote porn so. Uh. There's that.
> 
> ANYHOOOOW, standard warnings; English isn't my first language, so excuse any grammatical errors/typos. I'm still new at writing for Teen Wolf so, yeah. Also, this is very much an AU. And also it's quite superficial plot-wise, I just wanted werefox!Stiles getting it with Derek lol.
> 
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy!
> 
>  **[EDIT:]**
> 
> Woha guuuuys! So this fic got a much more positive reaction than I thought. Holy shit. I feel I need to explain some things though, from a lot of the comments I got.
> 
> A lot of you commented and said you felt the story was rushed towards the end, and would like to have me expand on a few things. I agree with you there, I'd like to write more of some things too. But I meant it when I said I was tired of having this story lying around unfinished, so yeah, rushed ending. Because I honestly didn't think anyone would like this story that much :,D
> 
> Now however, I'm tempted to make it a series. Expand on packrelations and Stiles' past, etc. But, uh, we'll see. Anyway, thank you everyone!
> 
>  
> 
> **[/END EDIT]**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Stiles skirts the border of the territory in his human form for various of reasons. He might smell like some sort of were-creature, but it would take a bit to place him, and even when they did they would still underestimate him. He’s twitchy, fidgety and reeks of nerves and adrenaline. To the wolves here, he probably smells more like prey than a threat but the less teeth and claws he possesses the better. There’s also the fact that it’s the polite thing to do, because it’s not only a sign of some civilized manners (he’s not an _actual animal_ ), but also a much more effective way of communication than growls and yips and howls.

He might also have chosen a time of night he’s known wolves to generally patrol their borders before, even if he’d prefer to do this in daylight, because _creepy._ But the cover of night is excellent if he’d need to get the hell out of dodge. He knows he’ll be underestimated and he wouldn’t blame them; they’d take him out within seconds flat in a physical confrontation but Stiles is _quick_ and he’s resourceful and smart and is all sharp wits when hunted. Werefoxes had always had a bit of a spark in them as well, something wolves lacked. Not that Stiles knew much, not enough to utilize the magic beyond a few tricks. He couldn’t rely on it though, but at least he’s _really_ good at running. It’s sort of the only thing he’s been doing for most of his life. Pushing those thoughts aside, Stiles jitters his leg impatiently and sniffs the air, ears straining. His senses are slightly dulled in human skin but not enough to worry him.

He hears the wolf before he smells him; he’s clearly calculated which way the wind blows and approached Stiles accordingly. Stiles bites his lip in a mix of approval and anxiety. A man emerges through the darkness of the woods, clad in jeans and beaten leather, eyes glowing red and announcing his rank unnecessarily. As if Stiles couldn’t feel the raw power which confronted him, please. He’s played the weak prey to enough _Big Bads_ to be quick about figuring them out and assessing their strengths and weaknesses.

“You’re dangerously close to trespassing,” the man growls, making Stiles grin cheekily. Never let it be said Stiles Stilinski doesn’t tempt fate.

“But I’m on the right side of the border, aren’t I? No _actual_ trespassing here!”

The man remains unimpressed, flashing a set of gleaming fangs. “What do you want?”

Shuffling, Stiles hunched in on himself, shrugging with a hopeful smile that showed no teeth. “So, like, you’re the Alpha of the territory? …Right, stupid question. Anyway, I’m here to formally introduce myself. In hopes of, you know, being allowed into your territory without bloodshed. Like, I do _not_ want any trouble man; I just need a place to stay. Give me a trial period; see how much I really don’t want to fuck shit up, yeah? What do you say, big guy?”

The Alpha eyes him suspiciously, stalking nearer and sniffing the air around him. Stiles squirms in discomfort at being so close to an Alpha but keeps his gaze averted, reminding himself the wolf have stepped out of his territory to meet him now and it’s, sort of, neutral grounds. Unless the guy is crazy on bloodlust and looking for an easy fight to maim some innocent werefox butt, there’s always that, and with Stiles’ luck…let’s just say he’s been there, done that.

“You’re on your own,” the Alpha states. “I can’t smell any others on you. You haven’t stayed in any territory long enough for a scent to settle.”

Cringing, Stiles shrugs and makes a ‘well what can you do’ sort of grimace/gesture, hands flailing. “What can I say? I’m a wandering spirit, dude, road tripping like the best of them; searching for myself, self-discovery and adventure and all that!”

It’s fake cheer but it’s such an integrated part of him now that the only people who would’ve known him enough from _before_ are long gone from his life. The Alpha isn’t familiar enough with him to pick up on it, though he doesn’t stop eying Stiles with the sharp suspicion that’s clung to him since he came into view.

“Your name.”

Stiles gulps, because this is the tricky part. He can’t lie. But Przemyslaw hasn’t been his name for years now. The last person who called him that was his father.

“I’m Stiles,” he settles for. His jaw is set and his shoulders stiff; he doesn’t owe the Alpha more than that. The wolf had already smelled all it needed to know.

“I’ll invite you in,” the Alpha begins, and Stiles politely contains his victory dance for later, “But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. If you so much as step a toe out of line I’ll either chase you off or rip your throat out, depending on my mood. Are we clear?”

Wow, the guy is intimidating. Stiles might’ve been a bit close to baring his throat for a moment there despite not being a wolf. Then again, the Alpha is, like, breathing moist breath down his neck and growling while flashing fancy red eyes and pointy fangs all up in Stiles’ current non-existent personal space, so. He can’t exactly be blamed.

Swallowing down a whimper Stiles is sure the wolf heard anyway, he nods jerkily, gaze averted. “I understand, sir.” If nothing else, Stiles has learned how to play the Big Bads to his advantage and in his best interests. He’s learned the hard way when sarcasm and cheek stop being a form of defense and start being just another weapon of self-destruction.

The Alpha seems somewhat satisfied, and Stiles breathes a deliberate sigh of relief as the wolf backs down. Red eyes regard him. “My name is Derek Hale, and this is Hale Pack territory. I’ll introduce you to the pack. Come.”

Jerking into action, Stiles jumps over to the place he’d dumped his worn duffel bag, babbling with nerves. “Of course, hold on, I’m just gonna get this and – is it ok if I change? Please?”

He’s clutching the duffel to his chest and making himself as small as possible, eying the Alpha’s leather-clad shoulder and blinking with his eyes wide. He can sense Derek hesitating, can feel the moment he gives in, and mentally cheers at his dumb luck. An Alpha werewolf who _isn’t_ a completely power-tripping asshole? Score!

In the face of Stiles’ obvious submission, an Alpha shouldn’t abuse it. _Shouldn’t_ being the key word here; it happens more often than not, but that’s just Stiles’ lot in life. Forever haunted by supernatural assholes.

“All right, but be quick about it.”

Stiles wastes little time, stripping out of his jeans, shoes, shirts and hoodie with practiced ease and stuffing everything into the duffel before shifting. The world shrinks, the chill of the night air disappears against copper fur, and his senses gains that extra bite of sharpness that gets lost in translation in his more human shape. Derek eyes him with grumpy interest, like he doesn’t want to be interested but is, anyway. Stiles doesn’t like interest, doesn’t like attention drawn to him, but he shrugs it off and plucks the duffel from the ground with his teeth and trots over to the Alpha warily.

Snorting, the wolf turns back to the direction he came from and takes off, only half-shifted to aid his speed, and Stiles follows easily. He may throw in some stumbles and check his pace to stay a bit behind at all times, but old habits die hard. Just because he’s been allowed in, doesn’t mean he can stay, and it most certainly doesn’t mean he can get comfortable and lax.

Underestimation is his greatest weapon, nowadays.

The woods flash by as they move further into the territory and Stiles fights the unease of the increasing strength of _pack scent_ that lingers everywhere here. He should be used to it by now; he’s been through more strange territories than he can count, and he can no longer remember the scent of the dens that used to be _his_. The only scent he can claim nowadays is his personal scent clinging to his clothes and his duffel, where the countless other strange scents merely cling on half-heartedly and are replaced with new ones more often than not. Like spilling coke on your shirt and letting it stain, before washing it out until next time you spill something.

He’s finally focused himself by the time they reach the wolf’s den; a house that looks like it’s been through hell only to be re-built into something less damaged but still worn.

Stiles pretends he’s not surprised, that he doesn’t know this place, and Derek doesn’t seem to notice the hitch in his steps. See, always good to keep up the clumsy gait.

They’re greeted by the Alpha’s pack and Stiles barely refrains from toppling over in shock and a sudden, intense spike of terror. The scent sours the air before he can get it under control and his heart stutters into a terrified pace that’s loud in the tense, confused silence. He can’t help but back away a few steps, hackles up in sheer instinct, ready to bolt and only containing himself through the shock that’s locking his joints in place.

It’s been almost nine years, but Stiles knows some of these faces. He _knows_ them.

He’s suddenly intensely glad he’s shifted because he’d known there’d be a possibility to run into his old life, he’d known that, but not _like this._ Not where he can’t hide, not where he’s gone for _shelter_.

“I invited you in. Unless you act out of line, no one in my pack will harm you,” the Alpha speaks, his voice steady and firm. The authority automatically calms Stiles down enough to get his bearings. He takes in the familiar and the unfamiliar faces and relaxes just a bit; no one seems to recognize him, even when they’re sniffing the air and scrunching their noses with unease and confusion.

He reminds himself it’s quite possible and most likely that they haven’t clung to the memories of his life here like he has over the years. It’s more than likely that he’s just a faded childhood memory, the crazy cop kid that disappeared with his father too many years ago.

It helps ground him somewhat, though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The pack is young, Stiles’ notes numbly, and none of them born werewolves. He’d known that, of course, when he’d done as discreet a check-up on the Hale Pack as possible without raising any suspicions. There’d been no names, he’d only known the pack was young but stable, the territory as safe as can be after its many years of chaos.

But oh god, _Lydia._ She’s not a wolf, she’s something else; he’d always known it but had never expected her to run with the supernatural. And Jackson, geez, whose brilliant idea was it to bite _that_ douche? Honestly. He can’t remember the names of the others; the blonde girl doesn’t even look all that familiar, but he thinks he recognizes the dark-skinned giant, and the curly haired boy. He tries to avoid the last one, but it’s inevitable.  

It’s _Scott;_ the kid who used to absolutely butcher Stiles’ first name, stubbornly refusing to just call him Stilinski. The kid who’d been there for the years after his mother’s death had brought the remaining Stilinskis to Beacon Hills, before Stiles and his dad moved on once again. Stiles wonders if he’d recognize him now, after all these years, just like how Scott’s face immediately clicked in his own mind.

“You need to calm down, Stiles,” Derek says, stepping in front of him to block the sight of his pack, glancing over his shoulder to have them back down. Stiles pants, loosening the grip he has on his duffel a bit and wincing at the holes he must’ve poked through it with his fangs. Damn it.

With a shake of his head and an annoyed huff, Stiles gets his shit together because _really._ He’s been through worse, he knows how to roll with the punches now, he fucking _knows_. He can’t afford this, damn it. He’ll get this the hell over with and find a place to hunker down in as he figures all this out. But right now he needs to go through with this.

Looking up at the Alpha, Stiles drops his duffel and shuffles forward, posture low and submissive, muzzle turned up to sniff at Derek’s leg. He moves so Stiles can approach the pack, allowing them to take in his scent properly as Stiles memorizes theirs.

“Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Scott, Jackson and Lydia,” Derek nods at them in turn and Stiles acknowledges them with short, high-pitched whines in greeting. “This is Stiles. He’s seeking shelter, I’ve given him a chance to prove himself, and so for now he’s welcome. I’m going to keep an eye on him, but he’s allowed to keep his distance from the rest of you.”

Stiles jerks in surprise at the last one but Derek isn’t acknowledging him at the moment, focusing on his pack. He wonders if it’s because of how Stiles’ reacted to Derek’s pack, or if Derek doesn’t want him interacting with them, but it doesn’t matter either way; he’s not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

He plans to stay as far away from the Hale pack as possible, until he figures his shit out. Evidently, he’s been ignoring the mess that is his past for too long.

“—nd I’ll be seeing him off. You can go back into the house, I’ll return later.”

Stiles shakes his head as he realizes he’d tuned out, shifting restlessly on his paws. The Alpha turns to face him. “Get your stuff; I’ll lead you out of the inner perimeter.”

Walking up to his duffel, Stiles snags it up with a snap of his teeth and struts up to the Alpha expectantly. Derek eyes him with interest as they walk away from the house at a normal pace. He’s quiet for a long time, only speaking up when Stiles can no longer hear his pack shuffling around in the house.

“If you’re planning on staying, you’ll need to know more about the territory and the pack. But more importantly, I’ll need to know more about you,” he says, eying the way Stiles’ tail swishes and back curls slightly. Stiles forces himself to relax and continue on. “It’s rare to see your kind out of a familial unit or not out searching for new territory to claim. You’re young, though old enough to be looking for your own den, but you don’t smell like _anyone._ You must’ve been… _wandering_ …for years, alone, for that to happen.”

Stiles’ bares his fangs in a twisted grin, fighting the flight or fight response the Alpha’s words are causing in him. Derek seems unconcerned, but meets his glare with a curious tilt of his head.

“You aren’t nearly as submissive as you come off as, are you?” he muses and Stiles almost trips over himself unintentionally this time, but continues on. Fuck if this night couldn’t get any worse. “You’ll need to know there are hunters in town, but we have a treaty so I’ll keep them off your back for the trial period. If you’re staying longer, we’ll introduce you and include you in it.” He pauses, eying Stiles to make sure he’s understood. Stiles nods warily; treaties with hunters are shaky things but he’s done what research he could before coming here. The Argents and the Hales are entangled enough to make it more beneficial to keep the peace. Stiles hopes.

Derek nods in reply to Stiles understanding and gestures before them as he continues to speak. “Here’s where the inner border runs. Stay out if you don’t need to contact us urgently. I’ll be the one finding you to talk.”

Stiles nods as he comes to a stop beside the Alpha. Derek returns it and turns to leave, but looks over his shoulder for a moment as he pauses. “I recognize when someone’s running from something. Prove yourself, and you’ll be welcome to stay, Stiles.”

With that, he left, Stiles staring after him in bewilderment. Well, okay, what?

No, not what. He knew what.

He’d left Beacon Hills three days after the Hale fire and a year later his father had informed him the last of the Hales had left for New York. He and his father had stayed far away, settled down in North Dakota, their trail covered and hidden from murderous hunters and the smell of burning flesh clinging to Beacon Hills. They’d already lost Stiles’ mother to were-hating humans, and Stiles’ father had been unwilling to risk losing his son as well. If the hunters were ruthless enough to wipe out almost the whole of the Hale Pack, then a pair of werefoxes would be easy to pick off.

Not that it had mattered much, in the end. John Stilinski died three months and seventeen days after Stiles’ fourteenth birthday. It was a young werefox seeking new territory; young but strong and ruthless, and with Stiles…his father hadn’t managed to get out alive, even as he’d brought the rival werefox down with him. Stiles spent almost a year and a half roaming their forest, chasing the disappearing scent of _family den_ with helpless desperation. The following years had been rough, but he’d survived.

He’d survived and he’d returned _here_ , for some foolish reason. Perhaps it was because he was sort of legal now (19, not 21, but it’s not like he could get drunk anyway), or perhaps because if he chose to come back…perhaps, there was a chance to start _living_ again. Return from the dead, almost literally. And if he could perhaps use his family’s short history in this territory to his advantage, then that was just him using all his resources. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. Being confronted with _that_ part of his life, Stiles’ wasn’t sure if he’d been stupid or brave to run towards the things he seemed to have been running away _from_. He was willing to go with stupid.

God, this was stupid.

But that was beside the point. He needed a safe place to crash for the night, so he could attempt sleep and try and detangle this mess tomorrow. Launching into a moderate sprint, Stiles opened his senses fully and scanned the woods for a suitable, temporary den. He settled for a snug cave, created by the formation of several boulders resting snugly together, until he would be able to dig a suitable burrow if he ever decided to stay long enough to need it. He stalked the area before settling in, dumping the duffel and curling up against it. He wasn’t an actual animal, but fuck if he was going to change back to human form anytime soon.

He fell asleep faster than anticipated, the smell of _other pack_ still wafting through the air, mingling tentatively with his own.

* * *

 

It’s been a week of slinking around pack territory watching from afar, noting the training sessions and growls and laughter echoing between the trees. Stiles had always been compellingly curious, but he wasn’t feline, so it shouldn’t be too dangerous (wrong). In the end he figured it needed to be done, anyway. Figure out the pack’s dynamics; see what kind of pack they were. These were all things he needed to know, if he were to make a final decision.

After a few days, he’d figured out their schedule and pinned down their ranks as well as he could without any direct interaction. He bolted whenever any of them got too close or too curious, allowing them to watch him as he watched them but stubborn about the distance he’d set for himself.

It drove some of them mad and distracted them more for every day that passed. Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t intensely amused watching the puppies run around chasing their tails as their Alpha tried to keep them in line. Derek wasn’t half as amused, but so far he hadn’t told Stiles to back off, so Stiles figured he was okay for now.

Most of the pack had obviously finished high school. Lydia had left after two days along with Jackson; Stiles presumed they’d been visiting from college (Lydia had always been so smart). Boyd and Erica seemed to have a working-day schedule, while Isaac dragged a pile of school books around wherever he went. Scott, Stiles guessed, had gone for the local college going by his schedule and books. The Alpha either had a really convenient job with a very flexible schedule, or he was loaded and did whatever the fuck he wanted. Either way, it wasn’t until day five the pack was evidently complete. Or not. Stiles wasn’t sure by that point, but when the first all-humans came to visit the Hale house Stiles had had a moment of panic before he realized it was pack, not hunters. He listened as they were updated on the situation with a new were-creature in their territory, heard them be addressed as Danny and Allison. Stiles would have to re-evaluate the mental Hale Pack Chart in his mind and maybe ask Derek just how many more strays the man had in his merry gang next time the Alpha checked up on him. Carefully edging closer, skirting the very outlines of the inner border, Stiles strained to hear more.

When he heard “Argent” though, he didn’t hesitate to run and didn’t come back until three days later. He hadn’t known the Hales were _that_ involved with them.

* * *

 

The humans weren’t here, Stiles noted, only Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Scott. Good.

“Oh god,” the blonde, Erica, gushed. “It’s just so _fluffy,_ I’m gonna _die!_ I’ve wanted to do this _forever!”_

Stiles yelps in shocked surprise as his tail was tugged close and hugged against the girl’s chest, the fur nuzzled and scented as she snuffled at it. He was frozen in indignant disbelief for a few seconds before he snapped, throat rattling in a threatening sound as he arched his back and tried to slip out of her grip. She merely laughed, causing him to twist and snap his teeth at her, managing to nick her arms enough to get away. Backing off, she looked surprised, and Stiles would feel smug about that because clearly she’s underestimated him, but he’s too busy refraining from outright attacking the beta in front of her Alpha.

Derek growled behind him while the rest of the pack tried to muffle their uneasy giggles. Stiles’ hackles were officially through the roof. _Fucking werewolves!_

“Enough!” the Alpha snapped, and Stiles took a moment to gloat, huffing in agreement, before registering the strained amusement simmering underneath Derek’s annoyance. Well, _fuck you too_.

“Stiles, it’s been just a bit over a week. I saw you yesterday. I told you to only come here if it was urgent. What do you want?”

Thoroughly pissed off now, Stiles just stopped giving a fuck, because it would have to be dealt with one way or another anyway.

He shifted.

(The pack makes various noises, mostly “Huh”, “Dude _, pants_ ”, “I thought you’d be…older?”)

“I came to thank you for your hospitality, and give some proper introductions,” Stiles continued over the shocked, startled and mildly curious noises of the pack, focusing on the Alpha. Derek eyed him with suspicion and rueful interest, eyes lingering in places, but right now Stiles couldn’t give less of a fuck. “I’m thinking of staying.”

Even if the guy was, like, sex on legs. _Hell-_ o.

“Dude, have we met before?”

That would be Scott. Stiles rolled his eyes and refrained from answering, waiting for Derek to respond to his statement. Erica piped up. “He does look familiar, doesn’t he?” Stiles tried not to betray his reactions, limbs jittery and nervous.

 “I think,” Derek began, speaking slowly and with a voice that didn’t allow for any arguments,”That we should take this inside.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. “I’d rather take it outside, thanks.”

Derek growled in warning and Stiles almost deflated by default, but stood his ground for a few more moments. He’d be able to get out of here if things went to shit, he’d out-run them, and he’s fairly certain they wouldn’t bother to chase him beyond their territory. Well, _fairly_ certain. Scott’s starting to look a bit manic in his confusion, while Erica and Isaac are eying him with narrow-eyed interest. Even Derek seems unaccountably focused, though Boyd remained a solid wall of mild curiosity in stark contrast to the way Scott was practically vibrating in his own skin. 

 “You’re the Stilinski kid, aren’t you? That kid who disappeared with his dad years ago, right?” Isaac exclaims, following as Derek herds them towards the house. The Alpha’s eyes narrows, never leaving Stiles. The rest of the pack almost tumbles over, but Stiles ignored them in favor of eying Isaac with suspicion. The kid shrugs. “I remember your dad, he was a cop. I liked him. I read about you guys in the papers. It’s always seemed a bit iffy to me.”

“I thought you were dead, man!” Scott breathes, still in shock apparently, but slowly tipping over to an excited/amazed setting. Stiles barely refrained from growling at the slap on his back he got, the other boy either wise enough or just intuitive enough to not go for a the bone crushing hug he seemed more than willing to subject him to.

This had been such a bad idea, though it was inventible. This is why Stiles have daily talks to himself about his poor impulse-control. But still. Could’ve gone better.

“I never knew you were a werefox, Stilinski,” Erica joins with, her eyes straying as she asks, “It was right after the fire wasn’t it?”

“Were you turned? Is that why you guys left?” That was Boyd.

Fucking Christ.

Like he owed them any answers.

Like he owed anyone _anything_.

“Everyone, shut up!” Derek snaps at last as they arrive in the living room, glaring them into submission. Stiles remain stubbornly quiet. “Isaac, get him some pants.”

“No need,” Stiles grits out, thinking back to his duffel stashed outside in the underbrush, “I’m going soon anyway, once we get this over with, either way it turns out.”

He’s about to shift but the warning roar of the Alpha freezes him in place and makes him hunch in on himself in acknowledged submission. He’d lost his chance to slip away successfully the moment he entered the house, unless he used magic. Great.

There were several moments of stretched, tense silence that followed before Isaac returned with a pair of sweats, tossing them in Stiles’ direction. He snatched them and pulled them on, glaring at the wall to his right to avoid the pack as it settled down in the couches and waited for their Alpha to make a move. The high-strung energy in the room was suffocating.

“Stiles,” Derek begins, pausing. “Stiles. I’m assuming that’s what you go by now, because you didn’t lie when you claimed it was your name. We need to know what you’re doing here. We need to know what happened.”

Stiles snaps, baring his teeth. “You don’t need to know _anything._ It’s no one’s business but mine!”

Leveling him with a steady glare, Derek stepped in close, looming. “You gave your submission for my protection. I allowed you to stay in my territory. You _will_ tell me, because if you’ve been running from something I need to know what, and why you’d return, and why you’d leave in the first place. Otherwise I can’t let you stay, not if it endangers my pack. Do you understand?”

Working his jaw, Stiles concentrated on the ache of his fangs and claws begging to burst free and rip into flesh. Taking a deep breath, he scented the frustration and determination from the Alpha, along with genuine worry for the safety of his pack in the face of a potential, unknown threat.

Fuck his fucking life.

“I’m a born fox,” he begins through clenched teeth, keeping his eyes on Derek, because he didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the pack. But werewolves were close; the pack an extension of the Alpha, a nasty little package deal. So he ignores the others in favor of concentrating on Derek. It works, sort of. “My dad had a sort of treaty with your family. We stayed out of your business, you stayed out of ours. Shared territory. But my mother was killed by hunters when I was young, before we got here. It’s why my dad ditched this place pronto when a new group of crazies burned the Hales. We’d stand no chance against that. So we left.” Taking a deep breath, Stiles continued. “Dad covered our tracks; we found ourselves a territory a few states over after a year or two. We hid for a few more years, laid low. But there was…there was a territorial dispute. Dad didn’t make it. I’ve been…wandering…since then. Last I heard the remaining Hales were in New York so I thought the territory might be unclaimed now, that’s why I returned.” Well, one of the reasons he returned. “But, turns out, it’s not. A whole new, shining pack of wolves and _an Argent._ But I’m running out of options.”

Scott makes a sound as if he’s hurt but his Alpha’s glare shuts him up. Derek turns back to Stiles, gaze losing some of its harshness. “Okay,” he says, making Stiles frown. “Your dad, I remember him. He helped, after the fire. After you disappeared, apparently. He put the police on the hunters’ track somehow, got them locked away. He set Laura and me up with a pack in New York. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Stiles. I had no idea about the situation. He was a good man. He never mentioned you, but it felt like he had something to protect.” He paused, titling his head. “As for Allison Argent…she’s dating Scott, we have a sort of agreement with her father, as I said. They’re not a threat as long as we don’t hurt innocents or involve someone unwilling.”

Derek’s close now, a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with this. Of course his dad wouldn’t just ditch without doing something about the hunters. Of course he’d do what he could, to make things better. He’d been a cop, but more importantly, he’d been one of the best persons Stiles had ever known. Warm, kind and just.

God, he hasn’t been this sappy since…he doesn’t know. Dammit, too many emotions.

Ignore, ignore, _ignore_.

As for the Argents…he shuddered. Dating a hunter? Really? Stiles shot Scott a disbelieving glare before returning his gaze to Derek.

“Oh, well, thanks,” Stiles says lamely, finally. He’s confused and hurt, because he doesn’t like talking about his life. He doesn’t like to be reminded all that shit actually happened. He’d rather focus on the now, though it’s not much of an improvement in this case. The Alpha’s hand is still on his shoulder and his betas are practically vibrating in the background from the sheer shitload of tension in the air.

Derek just nods. “You can stay,” he says after a moment of simply horrid silence. “You’ll be safe here, we’ll protect you. Welcome you. You don’t have to keep running. This town used to be yours as well, didn’t it? So you can have a home again.”

And Stiles hates him a bit more just then, because seriously? They’re going there? Stiles shifts on his feet, uncomfortable and fighting the urge to revert back into his fox-form and just slip away and keep going in whatever direction his paws would take him.

He’s a bit tired of mindless wandering, that’s why he’d settled on staying, but fuck if he’d admit to that.

“Look,” he says, shrugging Derek’s hand off (it was still there? Geez!), “That’s….nice of you, but. Can we just lay down the ground rules? I just need a place that’s mine. I’ll stay out of your way, and you’ll stay out of mine. I’ll answer to you as the Alpha of the territory but that’s it, okay?” He trails off, because he spent a week watching this pack from afar, three days roaming the town and visiting his old house, just trying to see how he’d be able to stand it and finally making a decision that he just _can’t_ unless he does this his way _._ And now, now _they know_ , and Stiles _aches_ for a place he can soak with his scent, yearns for the safety he no longer remembers.

Derek doesn’t take his eyes off of him, merely reaches out for him again, dragging his hand down Stiles’ left arm, leaving a trail of his scent behind and Stiles is about to snap his teeth at him when he speaks up. “Okay. If you want to keep your distance, that’s okay. But I’ll still be keeping an eye on you. Just…I’ve been there. I ran away and I came back. This is how I ended up. It wasn’t easy, but I’m here now, and things are good.”

Swallowing, Stiles eyes the pack, recognizing the signs of people thrown together by violence and misery, the bonds created by it and molded by the strength of fighting against all odds and coming out on top. It reminds him of him and dad, way back, and makes it hard to breathe for a moment.

He can do this. He can. He’s been through worse.

“Okay,” he agrees, if only to get out of here quicker, because this is suffocating; Stiles isn’t one to confront his issues, he’d rather look the other way, but the Alpha won’t allow him. “That sounds acceptable.” He shrugs, fidgets. “So, um. You know. See you around?”

Derek simply nods, the rest of the pack twitchy but forcing themselves to keep their mouths shut as they mirror their Alpha. Stiles nods back, breathing in deep. “Well, okay then!” He slips out of the sweats again before he shifts; craving the grounded feeling his fox lends him. Derek bends to run a hand over his furred head, causing Stiles to snap his teeth at him, but the Alpha merely smirks before waving him off.

Stiles doesn’t look back.

* * *

 

It’s four days later, as Stiles returns from a quick swim in a nearby creek, that the scent of his cave suddenly hits him hard. He realizes he’s been here for two weeks without relocating to another makeshift den in the woods and it’s the strongest his scent has ever been since he learned the lesson of never leaving too obvious trails behind and to keep moving if he wanted to wake up whole in the mornings.

It’s as good a sign as any.

* * *

 

Stiles finds himself making a satisfying meal of roasted rabbit and mushrooms with a pleasant mix of herbs, out of his fox form because, well, _opposable thumbs_. He’s been sneaking around the surrounding woods scavenging various equipments from unsuspecting campers, picking up burners and sleeping bags and various other things that are simply too bulky to carry around when you’ve constantly been on the move. He’s had years of practice making the best out of a bad situation, and as an orphaned, moneyless minor drifting from place to place, you learn a bit about improvising some rather kick-ass meals because, again, Stiles is not an _actual animal_ and he prefers his meat cooked with a side of healthy greens. It’s also one of the few of his day-to-day chores he actually enjoys quite a bit. It’s fun and creative in a way that doesn’t involve his own pain and blood (though he’s gotten to be quite a good hunter, and his prey often dies rather painlessly).

In any case, he’s not expecting anyone to stop by and so reacts instinctively when he catches the scent of wolf, hackles up and fangs out. His fox is larger than the actual animal, but still small in comparison to a werewolf, and he’s still young and built more for flight than fight. It doesn’t make him helpless though, and he’s ready to pounce by the time he recognizes the scent of the Alpha.

“It smells good,” Derek says in lieu of greeting, nodding towards the pans set aside by the fire. The Alpha has never gotten this close to Stiles’ den before, always meeting up with him on a run or simply acknowledging him from afar. It’s enough to startle Stiles to silence, his rattling noises stilling in his throat. Angling his ears and titling his head to convey the question, a simplified “What?”, Stiles backs down.

“I can’t cook very well myself,” Derek admits in answer to Stiles’ query. “May I sit?”

Stiles nods, shuffling over and bending down to keep munching at his food from the pan he’d been using. He’s not letting the Alpha interrupt his dinner and he’s not shifting, not when he’s so close to his den. Derek sits down next to him and Stiles makes a disgruntled noise, eying him suspiciously but the man merely grins and runs a strong hand down Stiles’ furred back. Snapping fangs at him, Stiles bristles and feels satisfaction at the bits and pieces of food that gets spit out and land on the still grinning Alpha.

“Knew there was something off with you,” Derek says after a while, keeping his hands to himself under Stiles’ watchful glare. “You don’t seem like the type to back down; you’ve got some fight in you.” When Stiles just looks at him like he’s crazy, the Alpha clarifies. “You keep going, despite it all. You’re giving this a serious chance, you’re thinking it through. You’re smart. My pack would benefit having you here. All of you,” he adds with a meaningful stare. Stiles huffs but goes back to his food, though still keeping a wary eye on the Alpha. He doesn’t know what to do with Derek’s insultingly unsubtle offers to join the pack rather than merely coexist with it.

He’s caught Scott sniffing around and giving him the most pathetic puppy eyes Stiles have ever seen, so he’d expect it from him. Even Erica’s approving if somewhat creepy onceover whenever she saw him (more like maybe twice- or thriceovers to be honest) made sense. Derek is another matter, however.

“Can I have some? I haven’t eaten,” Derek interrupts his thoughts with. Rude. But Stiles merely shrugs as much as his body will allow in this form, gesturing with his muzzle where to find an actual plate and fork. The Alpha helps himself with the same insufferable air Stiles is used to around these types, but he would be lying if he said he weren’t curious. From what he’d observed, Derek didn’t run his pack in any conventional way, not for a pack so young and varied. It was better than most, but reminded Stiles too much of family and friends, concepts he no longer allowed himself to dwell on. Being a fundamentally social creature though, he’d mastered the concept of acquaintances. He’d already made several runs through town, sniffing out some neutral hang outs where an unfamiliar teenager wouldn’t stand out or invite any unwanted attention and questions.

He’d been thinking about what to do now that he had a place that’s as much his as anything had ever been but has found himself at a loss of where to start. He’s got no identity left. Returning from the dead would draw too much attention and although he’d resigned himself years ago to live in woods and caves it’s a surprisingly disheartening notion to realize he’ll probably never have an apartment, get a promotion at some job or even getting a GED.

Right now he’s in the process of getting himself a job with a boss shady enough not to give a shit who he is or where he came from and although he knew he could probably ask Derek for help, it didn’t sit right with him. That didn’t mean Stiles hadn’t imagined all the ways he could be helped, ratings all through PG to NC-17.

He could get away with being someone’s cousin, or the more amusing option he’d entertained for a moment; Derek’s boy toy. He snorts at the last though, burying his muzzle in the pot and stuffing himself to keep from making any more noises but Derek still eyes him with puzzled curiosity.

It only sets him off more.

Derek looks alarmed. “I didn’t know foxes could make those sounds.” Stiles just gives up and falls down on his side, mouth open in a wide fox grin and tail twitching in a lame parody of a dog’s wagging tail. The Alpha looks unimpressed but Stiles just lets out a happy bark and pushed at his thigh with a paw.

“At least you can cook,” Derek mutters under his breath, seemingly resigned, as he stuffs himself on the last remains of Stiles dinner. Stiles finds he’s not as irritated by this as he thought he’d be.

* * *

 

It sort of becomes a thing, if there’s such a thing as things to be had. Derek drops by for a meal every few days and talks, but mostly he’s silent and just eats. The fourth time this happens, Stiles hasn’t bothered to change into his fox but stays human, the need to run his mouth finally winning out. If the Alpha was going to keep this up, Stiles might as well get something out of it too. Not that Derek wasn’t interesting to listen to, but the guy had a way of making everything supremely awkward. It was sort of hilarious, because Stiles was the master of awkward and had long since learned to shrug it off while clearly, Derek hadn’t. It was sort of obvious that the wolf was coming at this, whatever it was, with an angle he wasn’t used to or didn’t really understand.

As far as Stiles could tell, the guy was approaching him more like a potential friend than Alpha, which sort of seemed counterproductive to the increasingly unsubtle hints that Stiles should just up and join the pack already. Derek had even set his betas to cross paths with him at random both in town and in the woods. Never too close, but always with a greeting and a few exchanges of words. Scott wasn’t the only one of them visibly struggling not to crowd his space but Stiles suspected Derek was having secret pep talks about giving him time and space or whatever.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was growing increasingly comfortable around them and it was a problem as to whether he should allow it to continue or put his foot (or paw) down. So far he’s decided to exist in limbo, ignoring it for the time being as he settles down for the first time in his life, building a foundation that hopefully won’t crumble under him.

What he does decide to do something about, however, is the Alpha’s increasingly frequent touching. At first it had been the odd stroke of his hand down an arm or his furred back, but by now it’d stepped up to playful tugs at his tail or ears, once even a flick on his nose when he was being (understandably) obnoxious. The familiarity was discomforting in how easily he went with it, but once he started picking up Derek’s scent in his own clothes and deeper into his den, he realized it had to stop. It just couldn’t continue, right? Derek was taking this befriending/join-the-pack-we-have-cuddles gig a bit too far; the awkward puppy probably didn’t even realize it. Stiles just needed to draw some lines and clear some shit up. It wasn’t like the Alpha was deliberately scenting him anyway, and once he’d point out that was what was sort of happening here, Stiles didn’t doubt the wolf would be hilariously mortified. In his grumpy, awkward way of course. But still, mortification. It’s a glorious thing, when it happens to others.

So that’s what he sets out to do. Make it stop. Finally declare some intent and put some names on things. Like, _yes Derek, we can be friends but my hair isn’t long enough to braid and you already paint your claws in the red blood of your enemies so you’ve got that covered_. And, like, _I’m sure your pack is the best pack to ever pack but let’s all just be friendly neighbors and leave it at that, yeah?_

It couldn’t be that difficult to get across, really, and it should all be okay from there, right? Of course.

So that’s what Stiles sets out to do. It’s not exactly what he accomplishes, but he’s not sure what it is he _does_ accomplish, so it’s all a bit confusing.

He really doesn’t know how he ended up where he does.

* * *

 

The where of where he ends up is with an Alpha werewolf sniffing his neck and pinning him to a tree. It lasts for about three breaths before Stiles reacts with a burst of fox-magic which mostly is just a static explosion of golden sparks hitting Derek in the face. This accomplishes mostly nothing beyond Derek jerking back from his face-meet-neck bonding session, Stiles still pinned, with a startled and disgruntled grimace. It consists of a frightfully adorable scrunched up nose, scowly but confused caterpillar eyebrows, lips twisted to reveal the hint of a fang (it only makes Stiles think _baby fang_ , seriously) and is neatly topped off with the kind of startled, delicate sneeze you’d expect from, like, a freaking kitten being tickled by the fluffiest feather to ever fluff, _oh my god_.

The only response to that is obviously to laugh your ass off, or else succumb to the unfairness of a hot sexy person being more adorable than a fluffy baby duckling.

The Alpha is understandably not pleased, but Stiles is still counting this as a win as far as making the highly embarrassing and awkward snuffling stop. Of course, he’s still embarrassingly and awkwardly stuck between a tree and a sexy Alpha werewolf with the element of surprise now lost as Derek is now sporting a look of comprehension that speak of the Alpha having figured out the magic part of the fox-magic that just occurred. Not all foxes can do it, but evidently, Stiles is one of those who can.

He doesn’t comprehend why Derek is looking even more interested knowing this, as opposed to being wary of the threat it presents. Then again, golden sparks that make your skin tingle and causes you to sneeze like a puppy probably doesn’t instill enough fear and respect to be considered a threat. Stiles still thinks it’s worth at least the consideration of the _possibilities_ the presence of any magic presents, but he’s not dumb enough to point this out since the last thing he wants is for Derek to be reacting to a threat when he’s got his claws and fangs so up close and personal with Stiles.

“So, uh. That just happened,” Stiles blurted out after a few awkward moments of silence. Derek seemed to be content with just standing there pressed up against him and looking, like this whole situation isn’t making Stiles’ skin crawl at the incredibly epic amount of awkward they’ve got going. “No, but really. What?”

Derek huffs, rolls his eyes, aaaaand—they’re back to the neck snuffling. Seriously. Why.

“Oh God you’ve lost it, Alpha Hale has gone insane, off his rocker, loco in the coco—“ A sharp nip at the tendon running along the side of his neck causes him to trail off with a strangled noise as it causes an electric shiver to run up his spine and frazzle him all the way to the tip of his hair. The pleased rumble Derek presses against him isn’t helping matters and his mind is brought back to how he ended up in this situation in the first place.

“Dude, I think you’ve firmly established just how deliberately you’ve been scenting me. I’m convinced, good job buddy, now can you stop?” He’s fighting a hefty babble, cheeks hot in embarrassment and confusion and Derek nuzzles his nose behind Stiles’ ear one last time before leaning back – finally! – to face him.

“I want you in my pack,” he begins, offering a warning growl when Stiles tried to object, “I’ve accepted that you’re going to have to be persuaded and I’m not giving up. You’d be good in the pack. You smell good and in the pack you’d smell _right_.”

Stiles fidgets, flustered and not sure what to do or how to feel. He’s scared, there are attachments and insinuations to be considered, like how right smelling like _Derek_ felt and how tempting it is to hear the promise of family and den and belonging being offered so readily.

Also, he kind of really, really wants to kiss the Alpha and that, more than anything, is a complication he doesn’t know what to do with when Derek’s pressed so close, nostrils flaring as the older man takes in their scents.

“I can’t be your beta,” he blurts, truthfully, and flushes a bit in shame because he can smell the stench of his attraction to the Alpha and it’s more than a little mortifying. Derek’s eyes darken as he takes him in, eyes roving before he takes a deep, deliberate breath and lingers, as if savoring, before letting it out in a huff.

“I’m not asking you to,” he says, causing Stiles to blink in confusion because that was exactly what he’d asked, wasn’t it? “I was going to take you on an actual date first, but if we’re doing this then you should know I’m being completely serious when I say I intend to be _very_ persuasive to making you _mine_.”

The bottom of Stiles’ stomach dropped out, in the decidedly good kind of way, and his breath left him in a whoosh that had Derek smirking smugly. Opening his mouth to say something on the matter, because even with a broken brain he can surely manage something as basic as speech, but Derek’s cutting him off with a bruising kiss that has the back of Stiles’ head knocking against the tree he’s pinned to. He’s too startled to recognize the pain, enough to let a moan slip at the heat of Derek’s lips and the wet slide of tongue.

Jesus Christ.

“I’m taking you out for dinner tomorrow night. Wear something nice, I’ll drop by and get you at 6.30pm,” Derek murmurs as soon as he pulls away, leaving Stiles a befuddled, dazed and thoroughly kissed mess that do nothing to temper the smug grin Derek’s sporting.

“I…Uh, okay,” Stiles manages weakly as Derek frees him from his grip by taking a few steps back. Stiles barely refrains from dropping straight to the ground before locking his weak and wobbling knees. “I just, so. Okay?”

With a satisfied nod, Derek turned on his heels and – left. Huh. All right? No, seriously, what the fuck.

Shaking his head, Stiles decided he was not going to deal with this. He pressed the palm of his hand against the aching situation in his pants, swearing under his breath as he goes, determined not to freak out. Yet.

Had he just been kissed into agreeing to date an Alpha werewolf? Apparently, he had. Well, fuck.

* * *

 

If there’s one thing Stiles knows about werewolves and dating is that’s it’s never a simple affair. Especially with unattached Alphas. It’s diving into a relationship with serious expectations of the future, of being one part of an Alpha Pair one day. It’s nothing to be taken lightly, especially if you’re a werefox with similar, but different, instincts and rules. This is why he’s freaking out, because there’s more on the line than a simple, normal thing like a bad break-up. Pack dynamics, for one. Compatibility with more than just the Alpha, for another.

It’s more than a little daunting and intimidating, but Stiles wants with an intensity that _burns_ , his own instincts yearning for a mate, to claim the title his father’s death left behind. He’s not a red-eyed authority, he’s packless so to speak, but the potential is there and it’s why he’s never been naturally submissive. And Derek is _good_. His scent, the feel of his touch, the safety of his den. It’s been a handful of weeks but Stiles is helpless against the pull of Derek’s attentions, one date turning to two until joining pack dinners and cautiously accepting help as he’s being introduced around town as _Derek Hale’s Boyfriend_.  

Derek goes with him to the police, re-opening a cold case on a cop and his kid disappearing. It’s a lot to sort out, filing a missing person report on his father and reclaiming his identity. He doesn’t tell them of his father’s death, claiming he’d gone out shopping one day and hadn’t come back. Stiles was back in Beacon Hills thinking he’d find him on his own, explaining to the skeptic faces of the officers that they’d both been on the run because of Gerard and Kate Argent. It’s perhaps a tough story to sell, but there’s no evidence to pin Stiles with anything apart from confirming his identity and declaring him alive.

It’s a legal shit-storm that has Beacon Hills scrambling around in confusion but Stiles has an ID now, a legal one, and there’s health care and insurance and bank accounts. He’s introduced to Deaton, the local vet slash mysterious shaman, and gets his first legit job.

He still goes by Stiles but people call him Mister Stilinski now, sometimes, and Derek kisses him sweetly on the mouth while calling him babe.

Returning to Beacon Hills might’ve been one of the best decisions of his life. A close second is going back for that second date, with which follows a trails of decidedly awesome decisions that involves a lot of tongue and naked body parts touching. Stiles is definitely a fan.

* * *

 

“Stop being so smug,” Stiles grumbles, bristling in rightful indignation from where he lies on their bed ( _theirs_ , he thinks with wonder), arms crossed and shoulders hunched in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the happy daze he’s in. Derek lets out a pleased rumble, snuggling in closer from where he’s attached himself behind Stiles, nose firmly pressed behind an ear with his ridiculous arms firm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles is not leaning back into that naked chest, he’s not. There is no cuddling going on from where he’s being spooned, _unwillingly_ , against Derek. The older man grinds his hips in a slow roll that has Stiles’ breath hitching at the sensation that sets off.

Okay, maybe not that _unwillingly_ spooned.

“Mmm, you came untouched. I’m allowed to be smug, babe,” Derek sighs contentedly, still hard inside him, locked together with his knot pulling at Stiles’ sensitive rim at the slightest twitch. It’s beyond distracting and more than a little maddening.

He’d be more up to complaining if he didn’t know for sure they were far from done, the warm pulse of Derek’s prolonged orgasm promising a second round without Derek even pulling out to do anything other than push right back in and setting a slow, teasing rhythm to counter-act the rough fucking he’d started them off with as he’d cornered Stiles coming home by aggressive scenting while single-mindedly herding him to their bedroom. Coming home to a possessive, if playful, lover was definitely worth enduring a bit of (well-earned, but he’s not admitting that out loud, ever) smugness.

“You’re the worst,” Stiles groans, but there’s no heat or truth behind it. Derek simply rolls his hips again, knot tugging at him and making Stiles’ spent cock twitch in interest at the pressure. He doesn’t even care that Derek’s unsuccessfully hiding another smug grin against Stiles’ skin because holy shit, yes, we’re back in the game apparently. “The actual _worst_.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Derek hums, licking at a lingering bitemark on Stiles’ shoulder and sealing his lips around the abused skin to suck an even more impressive bruise in its place before it slowly heals. Stiles squirms, whining, because his cock is hardening and he wants Derek’s hands on him but sated, Derek is patient, almost to the brink of unbearable.

He’s rolled over onto his stomach, hands trapped in one of Derek’s and pinned over his head, as soon as he tried to reach for his own cock for satisfaction. It pushes Derek ever deeper, his heavy weight pushing him close, and Stiles moans loudly as he tilts his head to the side to give Derek more room where he’s peppering kisses, licks and sucks along Stiles’ neck and shoulder. “Fuck,” he breathes, cock trapped against the sheets and leaking at the combined pressure of his own body and Derek’s on top of it. The little hitching motions of Derek’s hips provides short, forceful thrust that has him shivers in his grip, surrounded by the scent of sex and Derek.

It’s enough to reduce him to eager, greedy noises too garbled to be words.

“Fuck, I love it when you lose it like this, Stiles,” Derek groans, hips grinding a steady rhythm. “So damn hungry for it, taking my knot, so tight around me like you never want me to pull out.”

Stiles bites down on his lip and whimpers, feeling Derek’s knot growing smaller even as his cock grows harder. The stuttering thrusts turn longer and at first, it’s all he can do but writhe and whine when Derek pulls out. It feels wrong, being empty even for a moment, after being full for so long. But with a sharp thrust of hips and Derek’s slammed deep inside again, slick with lube and come, the sounds loud and dirty in their ears.

“Gonna fill you up some more,” Derek pants, moaning, bracing himself on his knees on either side of Stiles where he lays prone, tightening the grip he has on Stiles’ hands while running his own free hand down Stiles’ arched spine. “Never enough to go just once, babe, you feel too good. Your body’s always begging for it, for my cock and my come. You’re so good, I won’t deny you, will I Stiles?”

Trying to get his knees under him for some purchase in order to push back into the slow, steady thrusts of Derek’s hips Stiles cries out and collapses at the forceful grind he gets in response, pinning him down for a second before the pace is resumed, only faster and harder this time. “Derek, please--!” he gasps, the sheets wet with come and sweat against him but not enough, his cock too sensitive but aching for more.

“You’re a wanton little vixen, babe,” Derek growls, letting go of Stiles’ hands to push himself up and grabbing a hold of Stiles’ hip, shifting to have them both up on their knees and pressing down on Stiles’ shoulder to keep him down with his ass still up in the air. “So wet for me, your hole is leaking my come. Gonna lock it inside you, gonna make you come again. Wanna feel your tight around me babe, can you do that for me?”

“Yeessss,” he hisses in reply, desperate. Stiles’ whole body is twitching in pleasure, each hard jab of cock inside of him lighting a fire up his spine at each literally breath-taking thrust. His hands are scrambling at the sheets, claws out, and his gums ache with the need to let his fangs out. He can feel Derek’s own claws digging into his skin as they roam his body and it’s egging him on, Derek’s filthy words filling him up just as painfully arousing as his dick inside of him.

A loud smack echo in the room as Stiles’ right ass cheek burns a hot, flaming red. Two, three more slaps follow, Derek’s hand large and unyielding on his skin as he leaves Stiles breathless and whining, muscles twitching and tightening around Derek’s cock.

“There’s a good boy,” Derek moans, soothing the red skin on Stiles ass with a warm palm. “So tight, _fuck_.”

“Der, please,” Stiles pleads in a dazed slur as the unrelenting pace of their fucking is pushing him quickly towards the edge. He cries out in startled surprise as his world tilts and he’s pulled up against Derek’s hard chest, dropping down heavy on his dick and almost sobbing at the new angle as Derek’s arms are hot, grounding steel around his chest. “Ah!” he gasps, Derek not even pausing at the change, the bastard. It has Stiles clawing at Derek’s arms, not drawing blood and leaving behind red scratches that won’t fade for a while. Grunting, Derek moves around to finger Stiles nipples, pinching them hard and rolling them against the pads of his thumbs and causing Stiles cock to twitch and drool with another pulse of precome.

It doesn’t take long after that, Stiles sensitive from their first round and more than a little desperate from the absolute filth Derek’s whispering into his ear and he fucks and bites and kisses him. He’s coming with a loud wail, the orgasm ripped from him, so good it hurts. He’s barely aware of Derek swearing up a storm, knot swelling at an almost alarming rate, stretching his abused rim past the point of comfort but well within the weird-but-so-good range that has Stiles body shudder and twitch helplessly.

He comes back to himself once again being spooned, large, warm hands petting his stomach and rubbing come into his skin. He lets out a purr of satisfaction, not even bothered by the smugness that’s practically oozing off of his mate. He’s full, to the point of aching, dribbles of come slipping past even Derek’s impressive knot but he’s afloat in the warm, sated haze he finds himself in and it’s a good ache, the best kind of ache.

He tells Derek as much, and enjoys the rumble of laughter he can feel through his whole body.

“Get some sleep babe,” Derek mumbles, nuzzling his neck and licking up sweat and scenting.

“Love you,” Stiles mumbles, to which Derek hums an affirmative, and he’s drifting off as Derek whispers the words back but he doesn’t miss them and falls asleep with a small smile on his face that he’s sure looks ridiculous.

Yup, definitely best decision of his life, this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Minor Character Death; The Sheriff. I swear I love him, I don't know why I keep killing him off. Urgh.


End file.
